The Secrets of an Amoral Life
by Piraticaly-Insane
Summary: Oh, Reaver, who could have guessed you'd have something in common with our daring Hero Queen? And what could she possibly want from the amoral industry tycoon?
1. Chapter 1

**_Hello_ there my dears! :D Welcome to The Secrets of an Amoral life, a little story I've written which will be PrincessxReaver. Here is the first chapter, I'm aware it is a little short but it's just a quick introduction. If you'd like me to continue, just review and say the word! This isn't the first Fable story I've written, I wrote the Destruction of Oakvale a couple of years ago but I feel like my writing has improved a little since then, so I'm tackling the titanic task of writing Reaver once more. **

**Disclaimer - I don't own Fable, of course I don't. I don't even on Reaver's longjohns; they're Benjamina's now...I should have kept them. **

**Enjoy!**

**The Secrets of an Amoral Life.**

**Chapter 1 - Reaver Returns...with style.**

The dark curtain of night and ominous rolls of thunder perfectly suited Reaver as his carriage rumbled along the cobblestones leading up to Bowerstone Castle. Oh, how he relished a dramatic entrance. Spits of rain pattered against his carriage roof, running down the streets in trickling streams and he slowly twirled his long metal cane between his fingers, contemplating the scene outside his window. The streets were clean and much less populated by beggars than when he had last strolled through Bowerstone. Interesting - it looked like his little Queen had made life better for her people. How _avant-garde_ for a ruler. Or perhaps her population had perished in the attack from the Darkness. It would be interesting to find out which.

The carriage rolled to a stop, waiting for another to pass and Reaver tutted impatiently. A vagrant of a man stumbled towards his carriage pleading unintelligibly for gold, or food, or yet another thing for which Reaver had no care. Sighing, and wrinkling his nose at the foul smell which emanated from the homeless man, the hero of skill swiftly pulled his pistol from its holster and planted a bullet between the disgusting man's eyes, which had widened in repulsive fear before what little light was in them vanished forever. Smoke streaming from the new hole in his forehead, the man dropped into a mud filled puddle on the ground with a loud splash and Reaver carefully placed his pistol back in its holster. He rapped his cane smartly against the roof and leaned forward slightly.

"Driver! If we do move along now, I _will be_ forced to shoot you. I have already been harassed once this evening, my dear man. Do not force me to dirty my carriage with a pool of blood."

With a satisfying jolt, the carriage speedily began its journey towards the castle once more, Reaver reclining happily against the stuffed red seats.

He felt rejuvenated; his skin which had been becoming slightly stretched and sallow now radiated with a youthful glow, plump and fresh as a baby's. His heart tattoo sat high on his finely cut cheekbones and stretched slightly as he grinned at the sight of the castle ahead.

It was _good _to be back.

**Hope you liked it :)**

**x**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi folks! Here's chapter 2 which is a lot longer thank goodness. Thank you my dear reviewer! I hope more will join you soon :) Please review, guys. It letsme know you're all actually reading. I take positive and nagative reviews of course. Constructive criticism is good for everyone. Hope you enjoy! **

**Chapter 2 - Grand Entrance **

Queen Eliza sat by the fire in her study, contemplating the dancing of the flames, trying to pick out shapes in the warm colours and plumes of smoke. In her hand she held a small goblet of wine which she held close to her chest, occasionally sipping from it with a slow, relishing deliberation. Her other hand leant against her face, fingertips stroking the soft skin and eliciting a sigh from her pink lips each time she made contact with a thin line of stress or age. Being Queen of Albion was terrible for one's complexion, she mused.

As a figure she looked perfectly at peace, although one might wonder why such a powerful woman, who appeared so happy on the surface, could be found sitting in the early hours before the dawn listening to the roars of an approaching storm. Then one would look into her eyes and find the answer. There was a haunted look in those deep pools of blue and when, in the fire, they spotted a resemblance to one certain man the formerly placid queen twitched and whimpered.

"Walter." She whispered, bending her head low that she would not have to face the flames any longer. She missed him so.

_You can only blame yourself._

Throwing her goblet to the carpet, the Queen shrieked in frustration. She did not know if the voice, the snide, accusatory and evil voice of the Crawler was real or part of her imagination. Since she had defeated the Darkness and lost her dearest Walter to its damned clutches, the great Queen Eliza of Albion had slowly began to lose her mind during the night. When she closed her eyes to sleep, darkness closed in from every corner her mind and she felt herself suffocating in the thick blackness both mentally and physically. Her mind would scream as all of her bad memories would return in a torrent of pain and her body would jerk to life, leaving her gasping for breath as she clutched at her face to remove the Darkness which was not there in the first place.

She had not told anyone, and during the day the Queen was perfectly amiable and cheerful, seemingly taking the weighty responsibility of running Albion in her stride, the way her brother had not. But no one saw the Queen at night, and she vowed no one ever would. To allow someone to see her in her weak and vulnerable state, plagued by irrational nightmares and relying on alcohol to help her through it all was unthinkable and degrading and, folding her hands into tight fists, Eliza swore that she would kill before someone would tell her secret.

Logan never said anything but in his eyes she saw a subtle understanding. He would send her a glance which would speak volumes to her. They understood each other silently and she knew that he would never say a word. They were one and the same now; a heroic blood line tainted by a strange madness and an even stranger inability to display emotions to siblings. She found it so difficult to display weakness to Logan and he to her. He was rarely found in the castle grounds at all, forever locked in his chambers which were once hers, pacing back and forth, forever bathed in light. His servants knew the consequences if Logan's fire ever burned low.

Hearing raised voices in the hallway, Eliza raised her head in wonder. Who could be causing such a ruckus in the castle at this hour?

"Sir, with all due respect I really-"

"My dear boy, if you were giving me the respect I am due, you would be kneeling before my rather grand stature and as it is, I am in _no _mood for such ignorance."

Upon hearing the slick aristocratic tones, Eliza threw herself from her seat by the fire and launched herself at the doors across the room, grabbing the pistol she kept on her person at all times.

"Now, you're a handsome young thing and I enjoy nothing _more _than handsome _young _things but-" the sentence was punctuated by the cock of a pistol. However, before a shot could be fired, Eliza flung open the doors with a great force, her robes billowing around her.

"Ah, speaking of things I enjoy." said Reaver, a lecherous glint in his eye as he raked his eyes over the Queen's state of dress. She had a sudden desire to cover herself, but, fighting the instinct, Eliza raised her pistol to Reaver's head and tilted her head slightly.

"Reaver, to what do I owe this rather abrupt pleasure?"

Reaver smirked and slowly lowered his weapon; much to the relief of the young man guarding Eliza's door-it was the poor boy's first night on such an important shift.

"James," said Eliza, addressing the man, "visit the kitchens and they'll give you a strong drink. And you," with a pointed glare at Reaver, "Come with me."

James made to walk away and as Reaver sauntered into the room he turned back, "I'll be seeing you soon I hope, James." He ended the statement with a wink that made colour rise furiously to James's cheeks and closed the doors with a throaty chuckle.

"Oh, my dear, you do time your entrances well; your guard very nearly gained an extra orifice."

Eliza turned impatiently, pistol still in hand, leaning on the chair she had just vacated.

"Reaver, what do you want at this hour?"

"I hope I am not interrupting, your highness. I have merely called upon you to inform you of my grand return (most important, I am sure you'll agree)…and to inform you of a certain difficulty I currently face."

Eliza almost smiled at his sense of self-importance, but nodded her head to indicate she was at the very least listening.

"You see, dear," Reaver walked forwards and lifted the bottle of wine from which she had been drinking, pouring himself a goblet and settling before the fire with a satisfied sigh, "I have returned in all my industrial glory to Bowerstone but I find myself quite in need of a house. As you know I vacated my old residence for it really no longer suited my, rather fine, taste."

"And why is that any of my business, sir?" asked Eliza with a raised eyebrow, taking a seat across from the man.

""Sir?" Oh, so curt, your highness. It is your business because I find myself quite enraptured by this charming little_ demeure. _Might my generous ruler grant me rooms in her spacious abode?"

Eliza sat back in her high-backed chair and contemplated the man she had known since she was a child. The fire threw dark shadows across his face, occasionally giving his features a slightly demonic appearance. But, Eliza realised that in all the time she had known him, Reaver never changed. He had been young as an early inexperienced business man and here, many, many years later, he faced her as young as ever.

His infinite youth was far too curious for the inquisitive queen to ignore.

"Where have you been, Reaver? You abandoned us to fight the Crawler. You scurried away on your little errand at the perfect wrong time. I suppose I should have expected nothing less."

"Oh, hush, Eliza. It was merely a matter of self-preservation. My 'little errand' was really rather important. Surely you read my note; I made it quite clear I am most unwilling to make this visit annually. It can grow so tiresome. I would have stayed, had I been able."

Reaver lowered his goblet and stared into the fire with a faraway look in his dark eyes. Eliza was unsure if this was for dramatic effect, but allowed him his theatrics – one could do nothing better for Reaver than humour him. But growing impatient after several minutes of silence, Eliza broke into the man's reverie.

"Well, Reaver, are you going to tell me what exactly this errand was? You did say in your note and I find myself rather curious."

Reaver shuddered and broke his gaze from the entrancing dance of the flames, turning to face his Queen. He drank in her features, appreciating the interested expression upon the royal countenance. He so loved a captive audience.

"I am afraid you shall have to remain curious, my dear. I am in no mood to inform someone of my _deepest, darkest, _secret if they cannot grant me the small favour of a room."

Eliza scoffed, "Nothing is a small favour when it comes to you, Reaver. Your room would have to have an array of dispensable servants with targets painted on their chests before you could ever truly be satisfied."

"As Queen I am sure it is perfectly possible for you to do this. However, I ask nothing more than simple chambers for now. With luxury fittings of course – I deserve nothing but the best, dearest."

"Naturally," said the Queen, rolling her eyes, "And if I were to grant you these rooms, would you finally tell me why it is you take an annual leave?"

"Of course" said Reaver with a courteous bow of the head.

Eliza noticed the small smirk playing around his lips as he bowed his head. She frowned considering what kind of man Reaver really was, and how he was perceived by her adoring public. To put it succinctly, they considered him to be a pompous prick. And he certainly was one; a violent one at that. How would it look to the people, if their Queen, renowned for being pure and good, allowed the kingdom's most corrupt tycoon to live in her castle. Not many had reacted positively to Logan's continued life and Eliza worried about continuously angering the proletariat with her choices. They were hardly a forgiving bunch.

Reaver noticed the hesitation on Eliza's face and quickly extracted his pistol, "Of course, I could always go and find young James and his friends in the kitchen. And I won't let _you _stop me." He twirled the pistol nonchalantly before directing it at the Queen's indignant face. Her pistol lay out of arms reach and Reaver would shoot before she reached it. He would shoot faster if he gained hint of her gauntlets charging.

Oh blast.

Eliza sighed and nodded in defeat.

"Very well, Reaver, I shall make the arrangements for your rooms in the morning, for the time being, sleep in my guest room – it is tolerably comfortable."

"I do not usually settle for tolerable, my dear, but for you I certainly shall."

Reaver stood swiftly, tucking away his pistol and heading for the doors of the chambers with a victory swagger that made Eliza snigger.

"Bonne nuit, your highness." He said quietly, smirking at her before leaving her rooms.

As he walked towards the guest room, Reaver's youthful face adopted a rather twisted frown, which marred his fine features. He had no intention of telling Eliza his true story. He had adopted a new identity, had moved with the modernising times and no one living knew of his sordid past anymore. Reaver intended to keep things that way.

He was no longer Pirate Lord and Thief. And he was even further from being _Him, _the weak past. He was now Reaver, genius industrialist and closet Hero.

**I hope you enjoyed it! Now, please, review :D**

**x**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you very much for the favourites, alerts and reviews! It means a lot you guys :) Remember, a review a day keeps Reaver's bullets away. Seriously, it helps -.- He's so demanding. Hope you enjoy this chapter! It's a bit of a set up for the main plot. Please review :D**

**Chapter 3**

Eliza sat in the glorious light of another day in Albion, with a small smile brightening her face. She was exhausted but happy with her current situation. Hobson had very little in the way of Royal Duties for the first time in a while that morning and for once she had not felt like blasting a well-aimed fireball at him. She giggled recalling the one time she had not been able to resist flicking a small flame at the tails of his coat. No one had ever been able to explain the mysterious Hobson Inferno, although Eliza was sure they all knew it was her. But no one would dare to accuse a Queen.

That day, Eliza finally had the chance to go through her mother's old items which had been left untouched by Logan. He had never really been interested in their parents' personal affairs but Eliza wanted to know everything about them; especially her mother, who had given her the special gift of the heroic bloodline. Her father had been quite a quiet man, never involved in scandal but her mother, her mother had been wild and untamed, prone to behaviour which was distinctly the opposite of the conventional courtliness. Eliza supposed that was why the people loved her – she was refreshingly different from past rulers.

The Queen's aim for the day was to avoid the troublesome Reaver, for she wanted to enjoy her day of peace. It was the late afternoon and as far as she was concerned she had fared quite well. He had not approached her once, not even to complain about his rooms which she had had decorated for him. She took this silence as an indicator of his satisfaction as for as long as she had known Reaver she had never heard him claim to be pleased with anything. For a gentleman whose speech was superlatively baroque, he was remarkably quiet when impressed. It seemed he liked the drama of complaints, and the smell of gunpowder which so often accompanied them.

A particularly bright ray of sunlight shone over Eliza's head, creating an almost imperceptible halo over her head, and drawing her attention to a bright glimmer of gold which came from one of her mother's many boxes.

Approaching the box with barely concealed eagerness, Eliza emptied the contents to find several ornately carved gold chests. They were not particularly heavy, and she sat them before her on the ground, kneeling down to open them.

They were cool to the touch, and as Eliza ran her fingers over the edges, a faint scent passed under her nose that reminded her of her mother. Digging her fingernails into the grooves, Eliza lifted the lid of one box, excitement coursing through her veins, only for it to drain immediately upon finding yet more books. She began to wonder if her mother was a scholar rather than a hero.

However, having nothing in particular to entertain her, Eliza sat back and flicked through the first book she picked up.

"Avo!" she whispered in surprise.

She had found her mother's old journals.

_After all my years of training, Theresa is finally letting me go! And I'm ready, I just know it. Prince and I are going to travel to Bowerstone to start our great adventure. I can already see Lucien trembling in his boots before the Great Hero Sparrow. Look out Albion. _

Eliza smiled at her mother's positivity. She had had that trait once, but after her encounter with the Crawler she was inclined to look at the world in a different way.

Shifting into a more comfortable position, Eliza emptied all of the chests of their journals and read through them as the sun descended, going from yellow, to gold, to casting an encrimsoned hue across her mother's study. She was halfway through the journals when she reached a name she recognised.

_I'm travelling to Bloodstone today to find the Hero of Skill. Reaver I think his name is. After hearing the stories about him, I can't deny I'm excited. To meet someone who enjoys the feeling of power that a pistol gives you will be a welcome change. He'll understand what I mean when I tell him about the electricity that thrums through your hands as you pull the trigger and watch your foe fall without you physically touching them. It's empowering. Hammer and Garth just don't quite appreciate it. _

Reaver was a hero?

And her mother knew him?

But, Eliza paused to scratch her head in confusion. Her mother must have written this over 50 years ago. How on earth could Reaver still look so young after so many years? Eliza's mind travelled back to the previous night where she had noted his seemingly constant youth and suddenly her determination to find out more about Reaver intensified.

She returned to her mother's journal with renewed vigour, but not before throwing a flame from her gauntlet towards the fire place. The light was dying and the darkness settling outside, but it would not penetrate her room if she could help it.

_Oooh, damn that Reaver! He may be handsome but he's an insufferable arse! _Eliza giggled at her mother's choice of words. _I don't care if he's the Hero of bloody Skill; I'd shoot him down given the opportunity._

It looked like the businessman had not changed then. But her mother thought him to be handsome? Eliza shivered as she could not help but agree. It was odd to find she agreed with her mother on that matter. But, like the former Queen, Eliza too was disgusted by his inherent repulsiveness.

_I bought Bloodstone Manor today, just to get at Reaver should he ever return. I'd like to see him try to shoot me down. I found his own journals while exploring his home and…I'm surprised. I hate him so much more, but for once I pity the pirate who has irked me so much on my journey. I finally have an explanation for why he's such a heartless bastard. I can't deny that he fascinates me._

Eliza's eyebrows crept up towards her hairline. She had never considered the idea that there could be an explanation for anything Reaver did. He seemed to live on a whim of hedonistic simplicity, that his character could have some semblance of depth astounded her.

Launching herself at her mother's remaining boxes, Eliza tried to find the diary pages her mother had written of, hoping to find them amongst her other items but no such luck, she would have to hear the story from the man himself. Eliza cursed loudly and rose from her position on the floor. Her knees creaked in protest and she groaned as she forced her weight back upon them. Avo, she felt old.

Going to her chambers, Eliza changed slowly into her nightclothes in front of the roaring fire. She wondered why she bothered to change any more as she never did manage to sleep. Even the thin black cover of her eyelids was too much darkness for her to bear. It seemed ridiculous to her in the daytime but at night it was no laughing matter.

Eliza approached her large vanity after changing and inspected her face in the mirror. She was aging before her time, at just 24 her skin was losing the firmness it once had and her luminous complexion was quickly dulling. Oh, to be Reaver and look so young. Running her hands down her face, the Queen sighed. What she would give to have his youth. For although she was good and kind, Queen Eliza could not deny that she was vain and to see her beauty taken away from her by the cruel mistress of time, was a source of great pain for her already darkened heart.

The more she aged, the closer she came to death and its infinite darkness.

**There we have it! Good, bad? Unspeakably offensive to all of your senses? _Including_ smell? I like to hear whatever you have to say, so review my lovelies!**

**x**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi! Another little chapter! Alright, so I actually had a plan for this chapter and it just went completely tits up -_- I swear to the high heavens Reaver took a mind of his own and I went completely off track. The man is unbelievable! I think in Stephen Fry's voice now. It's insane. Literally. Alright, sorry haha Here we are! Hope you enjoy and please review :) I do so love you for it.**

**Chapter 4**

Eliza lay in the large expanse of material she called bed, rolling to and fro while the heat from the roaring fire cast a sheen of perspiration across her body. Her heavy cotton pyjamas were doing her no favours. With a frustrated groan she kicked off her blankets and rolled on to her back, stopping abruptly as she heard a creak outside of her door. Holding her breath, the Queen listened intently, ears almost wiggling in concentration.

_Creak_

There it was again. Pulling her gauntlet from her bedside table, she sparked up a small flame in her palm. Inferno had become her favourite of all her spells, as it meant constant light whenever she might need it. Pointing her flaming hand at the door, she aimed steadily.

"Who's out there? Show yourself."

Eliza sat unflinchingly on her bed as the door slowly creaked open. The flame on her hand grew bigger as she threw more power behind it, feeling pressure rise to her wrists from her tingling toes, when suddenly a thin metal pole appeared in the crack of the door. Eliza raised a bemused eyebrow and lowered her hand slightly.

"You have to be joking," she muttered, before saying louder, "Reaver, is it a necessity that you carry that bloody cane around everywhere you go?"

"Ah, your Majesty, you know me just by my accessories now. Dare I say it; we are fast becoming bosom buddies."

Eliza dropped her hand completely and rolled her eyes as the door swung fully open to reveal Reaver, dressed in his usual attire, top hat and all. He strode into the room with a jovial smile and a spring in his step.

"Why are you_ here_, Reaver?"

The irritating man laughed mirthlessly, sliding onto his Queen's bed silently while she drew her arm over her face to wipe away the sweat, and to muffle to small groan of anger she could not hold back.

"Why, I'm here to see you, my sweet. You've been looking terribly tired lately, dear, and I had my suspicions that you haven't been sleeping. Of course, I am right, aren't I?"

"No." replied Eliza, through gritted teeth.

"Oh ho, don't deny it, love, the sagging skin under your eyes tells me more than you ever will, I'm sure."

Eliza swung angrily onto her side, finding herself face to face with the leering grin of her head of industry. He lay with his head propped on his hand, body turned to face her.

_He's still wearing that damned top hat._

Leaning in slowly, Eliza sighed softly, letting her breath dance across Reaver's lips, which languidly pulled into a smirk. Eliza turned her face up to his, watching as his eyes widened slightly when her hand moved up to stroke his smooth face, travelling upwards to smooth the small lock of hair which fell under his hat.

"Oh, Reaver, you're so…"

"Yes, darling?" he asked with slightly lidded eyes, relishing the heat of the fire and the sight of a beautiful woman in her night clothes.

"…Unbelievably irritating." Eliza snatched his hat from his head, and threw it over her head and into the fire without once taking her eyes from his face. His emotional transition was hilarious to her and suddenly she burst into laughter, recalling how his countenance had gone from pleasure to confusion to utter horror in the space of a couple of seconds. Closing her eyes, Eliza laughed; unaware that Reaver was not joining her.

Suddenly she felt a heavy weight across her body and a cool metal under her chin.

"I'm afraid I am not quite as amused as you, _your highness."_

Eliza opened her eyes incredulously to find Reaver's boring into her own, a crease of irritation at the edges of the brown orbs. His mouth was twisted, teeth bared slightly as he pushed the cold barrel of the pistol further into Eliza's neck. She shivered, not from the cold of the metal, but from the icy look Reaver gave her as he sat up more to straddle her, pressing his hips into her own.

"Reaver, get off!" she cried, panicking slightly as rather than loosening his grip, he moved his other hand up to grab her wrists and pin them above her head. Behind his eyes a red mist had begun to form and he barely heard her speak, he only heard a small murderous whisper in his head. She deserved to die really; disrespect for other's belongings could not be tolerated.

"I'm afraid not, my dear, that hat was really rather precious to me; a gift from a fan, before she became rather too obsessive for my tastes. But nevertheless, I appreciated the gesture and her taste enough to spare her life. Rather generous of me, don't you agree?"

Eliza attempted to roll from side to side, moving her legs rapidly and bucking her hips up, immediately regretting the movement as he ground his own down, with a grin that did not quite reach his eyes.

"You arse, I'm the Queen! I order you to get out of my chambers, or I'll chop your fucking head off!" shouted Eliza, her usually slow burning temper errupting completely and forgetting the pistol pointed at her jugular. She was so incredibly angry at herself for being in this situation at all.

"Tsk, tsk, such _language, _Eliza. What would mummy dearest say?"

"I don't know, you knew her better than I did, why don't you tell me?"

Reaver's face paled for a moment and his grip loosened enough that Eliza was able to twist from his grasp and spin until she lay on top of him. Grabbing her gauntlet, she fired it up and held the flame so close to Reaver's head it singed the ends of some of his hairs. He gazed up at her in complete surprise, attempting to reach for his pistol which had fallen from the bed in their tumble.

Her breathing was heavy in his face and her expression was one of such rage that it would have been frightening had he been anyone other than himself. The fire gave her face a magnificent glow and he was pleased to see that from his position he could see right down the top of her loose pyjamas. This pleasant view served to dissipate the red mist slightly and Reaver let out a breath as he slowly became more aware of his situation. The Queen was lying atop him attempting to burn off his face. And he couldn't have been more excited.

"Ah, I do so love it when I woman is as enthusiastic as I." he said with a roguish wink, and the usual glimmer in his eyes again.

Eliza's mouth dropped open and her brow furrowed in confusion. He had returned completely to the Reaver she knew and hated. Her glance flew quickly to the fire where his hat had entirely perished in the flames, which now licked around the molten metal which was once his goggles. Reaver followed her glance and gave a throaty chuckle.

"Terribly sorry, dear. I was so awfully fond of that hat, you know."

Eliza rolled from Reaver's body, too exhausted to keep her anger burning. It had been so long since she had slept properly.

"Reaver, I think we need to talk."

The two lay on their backs, breathing heavily and staring at the chandelier which hung glittering above them.

"My first question," continued Eliza, "How in the name of Avo did you get past my guard?"

Reaver grinned, "Ah, dear Eliza, that in itself is a whole evening's tale."

"You're borderline psychotic."

"_Borderline? _My sweet, I am a man who gives it his all, I am borderline nothing."

**I hope this was alright and Reaver wasn't too OOC :S I worry constantly about that. Please review and let me know if you think I'm positively butchering him :(**

**x**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi there. Here's the next chapter. Quite quick for me, I must say. I had not originally intended this story to be less than lighthearted but I'm afraid it has happened. My, I have been quite depressing lately. Eliza will lighten up soon but, as is the norm lately, things will be less than cheery. I do hope you are liking it though. Please review. I despise begging, but I'm being pushed to it. So many people are alerting and favouriting and not actually giving an opinion. Are you all pleased or something-elsed by the direction this story is taking? Thank you!**

**Chapter 5**

Eliza and Reaver sat opposite each other, on comfortable chairs before the fire in her chambers. Each was holding a goblet of ale, their clothes rumbled and Reaver's hair still smoking slightly from their encounter. Reaver glanced around at the deep blue furnishings of the Queen's bedroom and shook his head slightly. _She was her mother's daughter indeed; too good to even consider a darker colour scheme._

They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a time, Reaver throwing lust-filled looks at his Queen now and then, starting at her long legs and travelling upwards, leaving a scorching trail behind him, while Eliza frowned irritably at his display, attempting to cover herself slightly.

"Well, as delightful as I find awkward silence, my dear, what was it you so keenly wished to speak to me of? I am a man of little time."

"You'll have as much time for me as I tell you to have," growled Eliza, "So go on, how did you get past James?"

Reaver smirked and suddenly Eliza wished she had never asked, "He's quite alright, don't you worry your fair little head. He's tucked up safely in my bed."

"Reaver!" cried Eliza, sitting up quickly and slopping some ale down her front, "Have you no shame?"

"No," he answered simply.

Sighing, Eliza leaned her head on her hand and watched as the deviant across from her took a slow drink.

"Another question, then."

Reaver nodded his head, indicating she had his permission to continue, as if she needed it.

"Why did you never tell me you helped my mother defeat Lucien?"

Reaver looked up quickly from the chalice he had been contemplating and fixed Eliza with a look which made her feel like a child again. It was a look of such superiority and firmness, she squirmed uncomfortably under it.

"It was none of your business. It was between your mother and I. Had she seen fit to tell you, I'm sure she would have. Being a princess certainly gives one an inflated sense of entitlement does it not?" He replied with a small wave of his hand.

Eliza bristled at his words, "She's my mother, I deserve to know!"

"Such petulance" muttered Reaver, "That's where you are quite different from Sparrow."

Sitting her goblet down, Eliza glared at the man before her. He was looking away from her into the fire, his countenance fixed with a distant expression.

"You didn't love her did you?" she asked, in disgust.

Reaver's eyes snapped away from the fire and he stared at her with raised eyebrows. Slowly a smile spread across his face and he laughed uproariously.

"Certainly not, my dear! Me _love_ Sparrow? Oh, heaven's no. She was far too uncouth for my tastes. Quite unrefined was she, but what can one expect having been raised by gypsies? Quite unlike you- you have that air of good breeding and wealth, a life of privilege. I rather like that," he said with a wink, "But Sparrow was admirable. Strong, never complained (actually she never said much at all, quite disagreeable). Your mother dragged herself through danger and hardships so that you would never have to experience them. But I assume you feel you do – that's why you do not sleep?"

Eliza's face was blank with disbelief and suddenly she felt envious of her mother. She must have been a great woman indeed if she had managed to secure the admiration of one such as Reaver. Eliza just secured his lust, and she felt dirty for it.

"I have nightmares. It prevents me from even attempting sleep." she whispered, expecting another taunt, but he surprised her.

"Well, we all have nightmares, dear, it is, unfortunately quite human." Reaver replied darkly, staring into the fire and taking a drink of his ale with a delicate shudder.

Eliza looked into his face and for a second she was surprised to see that his features and taken on quite a vulnerable expression, eyebrows knit together and mouth turned down at the corners. But it lasted only a heartbeat and when she blinked, his face had returned to its usual devious hardness.

"What nightmares do you have?" she asked, curiously when he returned his eyes to her own. Her heart skipped a beat when they made contact.

"I never said I did," he said breezily, "So what does our _brave _monarch fear above all, then? Do tell."

"Age. Death. Darkness." Replied Eliza quite seriously, hoping if she revealed her fears, Reaver would tell her the location of his fountain of youth.

Reaver's face lost all amusement and he scrutinized Eliza with narrowed eyes.

"Is that so? And why is that dear? You're not quite the same vivacious beauty I first met, are you?"

He looked into the young woman's tired eyes and saw a depressing resignation as she shook her head and for the first time Reaver thought of Queen Eliza as someone other than something to get into his rather spacious bed. That fear of age, fear of death- that was he hundreds of years ago. Although he hoped that he had never looked quite as dishevelled as his Queen did at that moment.

Reaver felt distinctly uncomfortable at that moment. The room held a sudden emotional aura, radiating from the Queen as she looked at him with pleading eyes. It was terribly unattractive and it reminded him so much of _he_ before his rebirth that it took a great deal of restraint not to shoot the pathetic woman. His hand strayed to the butt of his pistol and he caressed it lovingly.

"How do you stay so young, Reaver? You must do something – I could too if you'd just tell me."

"You would never do it," he snarled, grabbing his cane and standing quickly. Eliza jumped to her feet, eyes aflame.

"So you have done something? If you could do it, as could I, Reaver. No matter how much you pretend you are, you are not special. From one Hero to another. Tell me!"

"The Shadow Court is not something to be taken lightly, my _dear._ Do not assume to know the extent to which you would go for what you want. How would you feel about a lifetime of regret?"

Reaver walked smartly from the room without a backwards glance, leaving in his wake the stunned Queen of Albion.

Sitting back into her chair, she hid her head in her hands and let loose a shuddering sigh, verging on a sob.

_Weak. Weak. Weak. What you're mother say to that? Walter even? He could not be less proud of the great Hero Queen. _The harsh whisper of the crawler crept through her thoughts, laying eggs of self-hatred and self-pity.

She loathed her weakness, she reviled her desperation. What self-respecting Queen would implore Reaver for help? Eliza despised everything that Reaver stood for but for some reason she felt an affinity to the man. She was slowly changing and suddenly, Eliza understood why Logan had altered so much from her childhood companion. And why Walter had been so empty and frightened upon their return from Aurora.

The Darkness changed people and Eliza could feel herself becoming one of its victims. Glancing outside she saw the sun slowly starting to rise, turning the sky orange and she lay her head back against the blue cushion of the chair. Another day of decision making – she was certain she could not last much longer on a body so deprived of sleep.

Reaver stormed into his room and slammed the door behind him with a resounding crash. The sheets on his bed stirred and James's face appeared above them with a lazy smile.

"Aren't you coming back to bed, Reaver?"

His smile quickly disappeared when he saw Reaver's face. It was one of white hot rage. Succumbing to his blood-lust, Reaver marched over to the bed and pulled the still nude James out by his arm, throwing him onto the floor.

"Please d-"

James's short plea was silenced by the bullet fired into his forehead. Reaver gripped the pistol so tightly his knuckles were white, ready to rip through his pale skin. With a disturbing calm he fired several more shots into the already dead body and with each bang he felt his rage dissipate slightly.

She had reopened his scars with her pitiable emotions. Reaver fell to his knees before James's body and took several deep breaths. Sometimes Reaver wondered why he bothered to stay alive for so long. He hated people, he hated his memories. His life had become but a hedonistic game to which he had no particular attachment. But he still feared death and age. Oh, how disgusted he was by the sagging skin, the mental lag and the eventual humiliating end only to be forgotten in a few years.

He looked at James's grotesquely positioned body with cold eyes. They were all weak and he had heard every possible story. People were but toys for his escape and he had intended the Queen to be yet another, hopefully fierier, one which her mother had refused to be. But she had failed to live up to his expectations and for the first time in hundreds of years, Reaver was presented with a dilemma of a moral basis.

Did he kill this woman who was the physical manifestation of his past self, or help her to escape the fears which he still felt? He felt a strange affinity to her now and that could not be avoided.

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Review, my fellow Reaver lovers :)**

**x**


	6. Chapter 6

**This is certainly a longer chapter than usual eh? Haha! I just kept writing and couldn't find a good place to break it so I'm sorry if it's too long guys :/ So, here we go :) Thank you so much for the reviews! I love you folks and so does Reaver. If that doesn't make you feel good, what will? ;)**

**Read on!**

**By the by, I was listeninng to Love the Way You Lie Part Dos, and I swear I was reminded so much of Reaver and my plans for this story when I listened to the lyrics. Lessthanthree it.**

**Chapter 6**

Eliza allowed her ladies to dress her the following night with less reluctance than usual. She despised being officiously fawned over but that day her mind was elsewhere and she was certain her corset would have ended up on her head had she been left to it herself. They surrounded her in a flurry of skirts and high-pitched giggles, pulling her dress over her limp arms while she stood despondent in thoughts of the events of the early morning.

She had not seen Reaver since then, though her guards had told her they had heard several gunshots from his room, adding that James appeared to have vanished too. Eliza's heart wrenched when she considered that these instances might be related in some way. James; young, beautiful James. The hero felt sickened that she might envy a murderer in some way, but she could not escape the fact that she did. And she felt a sickening twist in her stomach every time she thought of Reaver's reaction to her request that morning. It was horrifyingly human for the industrial devil.

The Queen was being dressed for an evening meal with her brother Logan. She found herself quite looking forward to it – their recent empathy towards each other made her happy to be in the company of one who understood her current mind-set, without pointless words.

"Ladies, that's enough thank you. I'm sure my brother won't mind if my hair is slightly askew." Eliza said with a small smile as she felt their nippy little fingers grab at her hair which hung in loose brown curls around her shoulders.

"'Course, your highness." said one of the girls, curtseying.

They scurried out of the room in their tight-knit group, leaving their Queen to her strange moods. Eliza walked over to her large vanity mirror and applied her lip tint, turning her lips a deep red. Her newly painted lips pouted slightly in a sigh as she again saw the increasingly dull complexion and aging face.

Her mother had stayed young beyond her years until the very end. Eliza just did not understand why she did not get her mother's genes.

Tearing her eyes from her reflection, the Queen straightened into a stance befitting her title and swept swiftly from the room, heading towards her private dining room where her brother waited. As she walked along the corridors, the various soldiers saluted her with her many titles like "Majesty" and "Highness" and Eliza returned their words with an easy smile and nod of acknowledgement. She rather enjoyed walking down the blue swathed corridors of the castle, seeing all the friendly faces who worked for her and getting an opportunity to thank them for their hard work in her residence. It was always appreciated. Not only did her soldiers keep her safe, her maids meant that she never again had to clean, which, Eliza confessed, she had never done anyway, growing up as a princess. The great Hero Queen of Albion was a domestic disaster.

Eliza entered the little room which led onto a balcony overlooking an expanse of green forest with a distant view of Millfields and Bower Lake. A beautiful part of the castle which Eliza had decided would be her personal room for dining. One should never waste a view such as that. Waiting at a small table on the balcony was Logan. His head was turned towards the view and he was unaware of his sister's presence. Only when Eliza arrived at the table and tapped his shoulder, did Logan jump to attention with a quiet yelp of surprise. His eyes looked up to his little sister in all her regal glory and his brows furrowed.

"You should know not to scare a man already on edge, sister."

"My apologies, brother." replied Eliza with a smile, "How do you fare this evening?"

"Rather well, considering. I was glad to find the balcony so well lit." he said, with a wave of his hand towards the many candles and lanterns which adorned every surface of the area.

"Yes, I think you'd find every room in the castle is well lit at night, if you left your room a bit more, Logan."

Logan's eyes snapped to Eliza's and held her in an intense stare. Eliza broke the stare with a tinge of guilt. She hadn't meant to bring that up.

"You know that I try Eliza, please don't feign ignorance to my situation. I know very well it is similar to your own. We just show it in different ways."

"I know, Logan. I understand." He cowed her in the way only an older brother could.

The brother and sister became quiet as a troop of servants descended upon them, serving their food from the many trolleys they had rolled in. It was only when the servers had left that they looked at one another again.

"Might I ask, sister, why I find Reaver to be a common _ornament _in the castle? Every time I peer from my window I see his distinctively tall presence molesting the local aristocracy." Logan allowed a small smile to grace his features, brightening them noticeably. Eliza giggled in return.

"Yes, I am afraid he sleeps in my guest rooms until he can find a house which is befitting of his rather impossible standards."

"I see," Logan paused, taking a small bite of his pheasant, "Are you sure he should still be living here as well as being head of Industry, Eliza? I only appointed him out of desperation. It is undeniable the man, no matter how vile, has a talent for making money. I have heard say from the servants that the rumours travel round the people of his staying so close to your own chambers. They are not looking kindly on this."

Eliza choked on her food and took a large gulp of wine to calm her coughing, "_Rumours?_ Just what kind of rumours, Logan? I do this as a favour to Reaver. And I do not see why I should not keep him as my head of industry when he follows my rules anyway. The state of our industrial sector has improved dramatically since the defeat of the…you know. Look, I appreciate the advice of my brother and a King but I know what I'm getting into."

Logan passed over her unwillingness to say the Darkness around him and pressed on, "I cannot deny that you are more than able, Eliza but Reaver is completely driven by his own needs. Beneath that foppish charm, which I can see affects you, is an evil maniac always ready to strike."

"I can handle it. Maniac he may be, but evil he is not – amoral is what I'd call it." said Eliza with finality.

Logan shrugged, muttering something about how he had warned her and continued eating. Eliza smiled and shook her head slightly, watching her brother as he ate in the way he had since they were children – like someone was going to take his food from him. But her smile disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared when she noticed his flinching from the shadows cast from the flames of the candles.

"Logan," she began, moving forward to touch his arm. He paused and looked up at his sister's despairing face, "You don't think the Darkness will ever return do you?"

"Not in the same way it did. But it will stay with us, Eliza, it will haunt us and you know as well as I it will eventually consume us in death."

This was the first conversation they had had regarding the Darkness and Eliza did not feel cheered. Quite the opposite in fact. A small, infinitesimal optimistic shred in her had hoped that Logan would say his oppression was lifting, that he was returning to normal much quicker than he had originally anticipated. She was a fool to hope so, she realised. Eliza sat back in her chair, pushing her plate away from her, so that the formerly enticing scent of the food did not waft under her nose. She felt nauseated.

"I can tell that was not the answer you wanted to hear sister, but I did, after all, vow to treat you like an adult. I'm not going to hide the truth – you will never feel the same again. Unless you somehow beat the unbeatable."

"You mean death, I suppose?"

"Naturally. I view nothing else as unbeatable. But that…that is the pervasive darkness which we will eventually face. Forget Heaven or Hell, we distress at the thought of the infinite curtain of blackness."

"Most people fear death, Logan." I said contemplatively, sipping my wine.

"No," he retorted, "They fear the unknown."

There was never any doubt that she would die. Eliza knew that if Reaver did not help her then she would succumb to the darkness like everyone but he and Theresa. Why did he insist on being so unhelpful, so selfish? She deserved to live just as long as he, if not longer, for she did not intend to break her moral compass in doing so.

"I'm afraid I must leave you, Eliza." Logan announced, glancing uneasily at the flickering candles around them, "The light grows dim."

"Yes, I'm afraid the moths of darkness extinguish even the brightest of lights." She replied quietly.

They both rose and Logan bent to kiss her hand. He rose and looked into her eyes, it was a deep searching look but he smiled sadly.

"It is unfortunate that it has taken this to make me feel closer to my own sister."

And with that, Logan left the balcony and the room, leaving Eliza isolated on the balcony. It was not yet too dark for her but still she sparked her gauntlets to life and flicked droplets of glowing flame at the nearest few candles, providing her with blessed illumination.

Reaver stalked the corridors of the castle in a visibly foul mood. The servants had been keeping out of his way and he no longer had any targets upon which he could release his frustration. For the whole day Reaver had been thinking and he had come to a conclusion hours ago, but still he was not satisfied. He was going to give her what she wanted. He hated the idea of it but she would not rest until she got it. Besides, she may _reward _him for his help. At this he could not help the lecherous smirk which flitted across his features. He wanted, however, a fiery girl for his pleasure and he would never find it in the beautiful Queen if she did not extinguish her fears.

Reaver considered the idea of what would happen when she made her sacrifice. He rather liked the idea of turning from being the corrupted to the corruptor. So bored had he become of living his life of hedonistic indulgence, he rather wanted a companion with whom he could share his amoral secrets. A protégée of sorts. He would help her overcome her inevitable guilt in the only way he knew how. Abruptly, Reaver became rather positive on the matter-to have a blank canvas upon which he could paint his ideas sounded delightful. To mould a more feminine version of himself sounded….arousing.

Reaver passed the doors through which Eliza was standing and glanced in. He saw the flames and knew immediately it was her. Only she would stand in what she feared, testing her limits, with such a weak protector as fire. She relied far too much on its flickering unreliability. He would give her the indefatigable beacon of immortality.

Eliza stiffened as she heard the door open behind her. Her gauntlets flared to life and she turned slowly to see Reaver approaching, surprisingly with neither top hat, for obvious reasons, nor cane. He wore only his white trousers, brown waistcoat, golden buttons glimmering in the firelight, and his striped shirt. He looked oddly casual and Eliza blinked in bemusement upon seeing him so, for want of a better word, undressed.

"The expression of confusion, my dear, does not suit you- I rather prefer the knowledgeable sparkle you so often have in your eye, no matter how misinformed it is."

Eliza lowered her flaming fists, seeing his eyes held their usual playful gleam and lacked the murderous blackness they had held the night before.

"I must give you credit, Reaver, you insult in the most baroque way. If one were not I, they might find themselves flattered that such a great number of words were spared for them by you, never mind the true meaning behind them. "

Reaver smiled with self-satisfaction and strutted to the seat Logan had just vacated with a positively peacock-like air. He placed his precious derrière upon the cushions with the utmost care and sat back like it was the throne he obviously felt he deserved.

_Oh, the vainglorious bastard. _If he did not intend on being of any use to her, why did he insist upon foisting his presence upon her.

"Do take a seat, Your Highness, we have much to discuss and I dare say you want to hear what I have to say." Reaver gestured grandly to Eliza's own seat and perched his chin on the arch he had created with his fingers.

"Maid!" he called, glancing round with a smirk as one shuffled into the room, her intense fear looking only slightly alleviated by the presence of her benevolent Queen, "Do be a dear and fetch us some fresh wine."

The young girl stuttered a soft reply in the affirmative and scuttled from the room.

Eliza raised her eyebrow at Reaver, trying not to show her discomfort at being in his company. Her hands subconsciously smoothed down the creases in the silk of her dress and her legs crossed and uncrossed.

"Do tell me what you want, Reaver."

Reaver gave a pronounced tut, "I do hate it when you don't play along with my silence. It can be golden when you have beauty to gaze upon, Eliza. I think in each other's presence we can claim to have that luck. Besides, you know how I detest when you are blunt with me." Eliza noticed when his hand strayed to his pistol and she leaned forward, anticipating an attack but Reaver's eyes never left her own and he appeared to change his mind as to the direction of his hand. He moved it to the table and clenched the table cloth.

"I have decided, in my infinite generosity, to help you achieve your _desires."_

Eliza sat up straight, her hand shot across the table to grasp Reaver's and she squeezed so tightly a slightly wince appeared on his face.

"Thank you." She whispered.

Reaver extracted his hand from Eliza's grip and grimaced slightly, "Please, Eliza, I do not appreciate the emotion, it may make me change my mind."

Eliza reorganised her face into an image of stoniness and nodded. She learned fast, Reaver thought with pleasure.

"If you intend to become like me," Reaver continued, locking Eliza in an intense stare, "We must travel to the Shadow Court in Wraithmarsh, I'm sure you have heard tell of the area from your mother." He waited for Eliza's nod before continuing, "They will require a sacrifice in order for your Highness to secure your endless youth and beauty. Everything has a cost, my dear Eliza, and I ask you not to forget that. The things we hold most precious are the things which often require the greatest sacrifice and what is more dear than life itself?"

"What must I sacrifice?" Eliza asked in awe.

'_Whatever you hold dear' _thought Reaver bitterly.

"I cannot say for certain, it is different for all." The lie spilled from Reaver's lips as easily; and weighed upon his conscience no more than the rest did.

Reaver had intended to tell Eliza all, but found himself unable to do so. His words caught in his throat as he went to inform her of Oakvale. She need not know, this was her mistake to make and he wished to take his gains from it. He did not want anyone to know of his story. Perhaps when they had known one another for a couple of hundred years, he would reveal his darkest secrets to her, but Reaver did not desire to be privy to her reaction at the moment, whether it be disgust and hatred, or worse, pity. Disgust and hatred he supposed he could handle, but never pity. He never felt it and never wanted it to be felt for him.

"Then I will do it. I am willing to make a sacrifice. Whatever it is cannot affect me more than this fear. What is one more crack on my damaged soul when I have the chance to seal so many more? You will come with me?"

Reaver nodded, "Of course, I am the only one who can gain entrance for you."

This was not true of course, Reaver knew he could have given her the Dark Seal and sent her on her way, but he felt a morbid curiosity in seeing someone else transform the way he had.

He needed to see it.

The maid entered the room carrying a tray of wine, walking slowly towards the table, her eyes avoiding the piercing glare of Reaver. As she settled the wine on the table, the young girl looked up and stared above the heads of the imposing pair. She wondered silently why the kind Queen seemed to enjoy the company of one such as Reaver and wondered if her Highness was aware of the smiles which so often seemed to pass unconsciously between them.

"Anythin' else, Your Highness?"

"Oh, nothing more from you, dear. Slow service equates to incompetence in my book – I have essentially finished my story."

For the first time that evening the girl's eyes travelled to Reaver and with a terrifying clarity that one often experiences before death, she saw, glinting in the firelight, the bullet which flew towards her face in slow-motion. She witnessed death hurtling towards her, its black curtain trailing behind it, ready to pull it over her eyes and mind. She heard, in a muffled echo, the scream of the Queen and smelled her own urine as terror took precedence over control. She did not, however, feel herself thud to the floor as she was dead long before it happened.

"Reaver! You bastard, you evil bastard! She didn't do anything wrong!" screamed the Queen, flinging herself from her seat cradle the girl's bleeding head in her arms. "I defended you when Logan called you evil, but perhaps you are." She fixed him with a glare of rage and loathing and he sighed internally in satisfaction – still preferable to pity.

"Defended me?" he chuckled in delight, "My dear naïve Queen, I am a terribly bad man. I live bad, I was reborn bad and in all probability, should the time ever come, I shall die bad. And I do not deny it."

Eliza stared dumbfounded at the man before her. Why, oh why did she place her dependence on him? She looked at his face, it was handsome, perfectly formed in many ways but when she looked down at the empty eyes of the girl in her arms all attraction was eradicated. Eliza had seen so much death, being a Hero it was inevitable, and in seeing so much she had developed rather thick skin towards it when it happened to others but she so hated to see the deaths of innocents.

"I am afraid if you plan to live as long as I, love, you will have to develop a better coping mechanism than screaming when faced with death."

"But she didn't deserve it, Reaver."

"That is debatable."

Eliza shuddered at the coldness in his tone.

"How am I supposed to trust a man who murders without trouble on his conscience?"

Reaver stood and pulled Eliza to her feet, bringing their faces close together over the body of the servant girl.

"I never said anything about trust, Eliza. We're never more vulnerable than when we trust and I rather think that is your Achilles' Heel."

Eliza shook his hands from her arms and gave him a scathing look before marching from the room, not looking back for fear of what she would do if she were to glance once more at the poor girl whose name she had not even had time to learn.

* * *

**A/N: Alright, so I want to say a couple of things here. The amount of times Reaver has been compared to Dorian Gray, gosh I couldn't even count, but I do agree! However, I can't help but feel that after several hundred years the role of Dorian would become a tad tedious for him, no? I guess I'm using this as showing his progression to a Lord Henry character. He obviously doesn't have the same hypocrisy as Lord Henry, due to the fact that he has actually practiced what he intends to preach but the control and power over someone would surely be appealing to one such as while I realise the Queen is pretty often the consicentious Basil, mine kind of isn't. She's troubled and her life is a morally gray area. She needs Reaver so much she doesn't react with the intensity she usually would when Reaver kills someone. She doesn't want him to change his mind - she has to walk away before she does something she will regret. Plus the reasons behind his actions intrigue her. He's like a puzzle to her as much as she is to herself. She can't understand herself so she might as well distract herself with someone else.**

**I also can't help but feel, while he no doubt adores the uniqueness of his long life, it would get a little boring and as much as he can hide away his secrets, he would eventually want someone to know how clever and incredible he really is. Like the serial killer who can't handle the anonymity, the James Bond villain who wants to lay out every detail of his plan just so that everyone knows how intelligent he is. But he wouldn't reveal this to just anyone, it should be someone just like him and that someone could be Eliza. He's taking advantage of her desperation but he thinks he can gain from it in some way. **

**Sorry for the ramble, albeit an explanatory one ;)**

**Review please!  
**

**x**


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